


Get me out of my mind, get you out of those clothes

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Personal Shopper (2016)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Haunting, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 15:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: MAUREEN, the letter starts, in block letters. The tiny flourish of a hand that has so many better things to do.WE WON'T SEE ONE ANOTHER. NOT TODAY. I'LL NEED ANOTHER DRESS FOR THE DINNER.





	Get me out of my mind, get you out of those clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [la_dissonance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_dissonance/gifts).



> Thank you for requesting this! I had a blast deconstructing the film. I promise, there is no murder or dead bodies here.

Oman should be peaceful. She's dreamed about this trip and trips like it for years. It should be inspiring. Instead, Maureen can't get out of bed. 

Gary says she is depressed. The end of a journey can do that to a person. But she catches his glance. He is studying her. _How could you exist in a place like this and be sad, be overcome with the past when the present is so vibrant and alive?_ He looks at her around corners, never as direct as Kyra was in her disdain, but the thought behind the glances is clear. The message comes through. _Why did you even come?_ He is studying her like he studies a network, wondering what it will take to fix.

*

On the second day, Maureen wakes up mid-afternoon to a note. She recognizes the handwriting immediately. _Kyra_. Her heart skips a beat and then settles. This doesn't feel shocking, not any more. This feels inevitable. 

MAUREEN, the letter starts, in block letters. The tiny flourish of a hand that has so many better things to do.

WE WON'T SEE ONE ANOTHER. NOT TODAY. I'LL NEED ANOTHER DRESS FOR THE DINNER.

Then

THIS ONE SMELLS LIKE YOU.

*

What made her think that she could do this? 

Maureen stands in Kyra's front room, trying not to stare. The apartment is furnished with the kind of minimalism that reeks of money. Only someone who has so much could have so little. Kyra herself is tight pants and drapes and carefully dishevelled blonde hair and a quick glance at Maureen's resume. Maureen shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Not because she is uncomfortable, but because she wants to feel the leather sofa on her bare skin. 

"An art degree and an attitude. I can make this work. Otherwise? This is meaningless." Kyra crumples the paper and flicks it in the direction of a kitchen waste bin. "Five hundred euros. Fuck off with it, or bring me back one thing I'll love. Your choice. I don't have time to waste on someone with no sense of what I want. No sense of urgency. I'm a very," she tucks a lock of hair behind her left ear, "busy woman with an image to keep up."

She retrieves the cash from an envelope, counts it out in a bored sort of way, and hands it to Maureen. Lifts an eyebrow. "See yourself out."

*

That night, or maybe the next morning, she is lying next to Gary and not sleeping and there is a crinkle of paper under her thin pillow.

A note.

"Leave me alone," she mumbles. For once in her life, she isn't even going to look.

Gary rolls over. "You okay babe?"

She doesn't know. Yes. She says yes. The place is quiet. The sun rising sounds like _Kyra_ pounding in her veins. She can't hear Gary's disappointment over the noise. Feedback and crashing piano chords and _Kyra_.

She doesn't want to go on a silent hike through the countryside. She doesn't want to meditate. Doesn't want to feel the aura of this place. Lewis is gone, or he never was. This is the end of something huge, a real paradigm shift. But she's still covered in shadow, still haunted. She can't hear Gary's disappointment, but she can feel it. _Can't you just be present with me? Can't you just be here?_

She isn't the girl he knew, and she hates that.

*

"I don't know you."

Two knocks. Delicate, this time. Not the building-shaking thumps she encountered three days ago.

"Leave me _alone_ , okay? You're not paying me any more. I don't have to put up with this. Find someone who cares."

Two knocks. 

*

Her dreams are electric, bright and filled with color. Oman feels muted, a replication of Oman. An Oman she saw in a film once, but removed. Simulacrum. Simulacrum of inspiration, simulacrum of love. Gary is getting impatient. They fuck quietly in the morning because even his challenging eye contact and muffled grunts into her neck and shoulder are better than the silence. But she can't stay with him after. Can't fall back asleep. She walks until she sees a notebook page, loose, floating in the gentle wind.

The air smells like lemons.

*

She spends the metro ride back to her apartment engrossed in her phone. She'd done the cursory google before applying for the position, "Personal shopper needed," but now she has an impetus. Maureen scrolls through still photos and videos from VIP events all over the city. All over the world.

Each picture gets catalogued. Color, cut. Organza, leather. Panels of sheer and of slate gray. She watches interviews, makes note of the curve of Kyra's lip, the arch of her brow. The length of her torso, the weight of her breasts.

Each part has a mirror in herself. Maureen watches, headphones in, and touches her own mouth and face. She slides a quick hand over the t-shirt she's wearing. Settles her hand at her thigh and taps, her fingertips tense.

Her search history is Kyra. Kyra. _Kyra_.

*

Maureen hasn't washed for four days. Hasn't changed clothes other than to sleep naked and put the sweater and jeans back on. She hasn't done anything to make them dirty, has hardly moved from this spot. The house could crumble around her, and she'd just lay here.

There's Gary's concern again. _Jesus, Maureen. Could you at least try?_

She opens her mouth to speak, but her throat closes up. "I think," she manages, "I think I need to go back to Paris."

_Why did you even come? What are you doing here in the first place?_

"I guess if your heart is there." Gary shrugs. Maureen should feel worse than she does. She should feel gutted. "We can arrange a guide in the morning."

*

That night, she dreams about wearing the dress. The harness with the gauzy black. The fabric is cool, so Maureen jerks awake when she feels a hand on her middle back, warm and soft. She thinks, before the thought can stop, of lips following hands. Of fabric around her thighs, fingers tangled in blonde hair.

THIS ONE SMELLS LIKE YOU

Maureen covers her face with her hands. "Fuck you."

One knock.

She can feel the curve of a smile beginning beneath her fingers.


End file.
